


dark as the tomb where it happens

by JCBookworm



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Artistic License, THE COLD MASSACRE, What Happened at La Rinconada, call's only a baby, massive artistic license
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 12:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21494584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCBookworm/pseuds/JCBookworm
Summary: Sarah and Constantine have a conversation.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	dark as the tomb where it happens

**Author's Note:**

> This idea's been in my head for a long time, so I figured I would just get it down. I thought of this when I was reading the bronze key (though I very quickly got distracted by other... events... in the book (you know what I'm talking about)) so yeah, a very long time, but it also means that it might not completely fit canon? Silver mask at least I'm pretty sure those diary entries disproved something (though I haven't read that one in a while so I can't really remember). So if there is something that doesn't fit just... ignore it, I guess.
> 
> That's what fanfiction's for anyway.
> 
> I might end up rewriting, but as I said I really just wanted to get it out. The actual conversation part ended up being much shorter than I intended, but oh well.
> 
> Please enjoy!

The room was in chaos.

Literally.

Chaos-ridden swarmed through the cave, their swirling eyes fierce and dangerous. The few mages able to fight were trying their best, but it was a lost fight already. They were outnumbered, even if one included the injured and the children. It was a disaster and, in the middle of it all, a cloaked figure, his face hidden behind a mask, a storm in his own right.

Sarah cradled Callum closer.

Declan staggered to her side. His eyes were still bloodshot from the fight he had been in not even half a week ago, the one which had landed him here to recover. His eyes scanned her and the baby.

“Sarah,” he hissed urgently. “Sarah, we need to contact—”

“There’s no time!” Sarah interrupted. Declan grimaced, knowing it was true. “Take Callum.”

“What?” Declan hissed. “No way. I’m not leaving you. And there’s no time, we’ll never get out.”

Sarah nodded. “I know. But—” she tried not to sob—“I won’t let him see me die. Not like this, Dec. Please?”

Declan examined her for a moment. “If that is what you wish,” he agreed reluctantly. There was no use arguing with Sarah once she had made up her mind. He wished, desperately, that she would understand his struggle here, but she remained as stubborn as always. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, trying not to cry. If he were to die, he would not let her see him cry.

Maybe it ran in the family.

“Goodbye, Sarah,” he murmured. She smiled, understanding, and passed him Callum after giving him a final kiss and muttering a sleeping spell. Declan winced. He could have done that, and made it far more powerful: he hated seeing his sister look so weak. She was supposed to be the strong one. It had been a difficult birth, though, and sapped her strength far too much.

“Farewell,” she sighed, and turned away to face the chaos ridden.

He would never see his sister again.

There were corpses littering the floor of the cave: children, the elderly, the sick. It made Declan feel nauseous.

He would be one of them, soon.

Too soon. He wasn’t even at the entrance of the cave before a strange sensation developed around his mouth. He twisted his head to see one of the few mages who had invaded with their arm stretched out. The feeling was less a feeling and more a lack of such: the absence of air around his head. He was suffocating, slowly, unable to do anything but—

Callum.

With the thought of his nephew in his mind, he reached out with his mind. It was difficult: he could barely think, much less cast. But he did manage to focus his energy on the ice around the magician’s feet. It began rising, slowly. He smirked. Water had always been his area.

The other mage had noticed his efforts and doubled the energy on him with a scowl. Declan could feel, absently, the blood vessels popping and his throat starting to close. He sent a final fierce push towards the other mage and the water swelled, surrounding the other caster in a final, bitter blow.

He collapsed to the floor, dying.

Back over on the other side, Sarah closed her eyes. Declan had been with her since she could remember; born a mere ten months apart, as unlikely as it seemed, tutored together, sorted into the same mage group. And now he was gone. Callum too, probably, her sweet baby boy. He was so small when he had been born, and Alastair had joked that if he stayed that way then they’d be able to get him child tickets well into adulthood.

Oh god, Alastair.

The chaos-ridden were still slaughtering everyone in sight, but there were less of them now. The enemy mages – or at least whichever were less – had been sent deeper into another cavern of the cave. Sarah would have offered up a silent prayer, but she was pretty sure it would be useless against the forces of darkness.

It was almost silent in the cave.

Was she – no. She couldn’t be the last.

Except it appeared that, while she’d been using all her strength to defeat as many invaders as she could, she was the only one left.

She allowed herself a grieving sob. Emily, the little girl who had braided Sarah’s hair to ‘practice’; Bryan, the elderly man who would entertain them with air magic stories; Sam, the teen who, though angry at being forbidden from the fight, had still held Callum and amused him with small displays. All gone.

She looked up to see the last of the attackers advancing towards her and steadied herself to take down as many as she could with her. It wouldn’t be easy in her state, but she didn’t have much to lose.

All of a sudden, the chaos-ridden, both human and animal, stopped. They turned as one, then parted in a smooth movement to allow the cloaked figure to walk through. His black cloak swayed behind him, the mask obscuring his face from view. He was an imposing figure, tall and well-built against the paleness of the cave. Sarah felt a surge of hatred and grief as the Enemy of Death knelt down to her eye level.

The man removed his mask to reveal familiar grey eyes.

“Hello, Sarah,” said Constantine Madden.

So many thoughts were running through Sarah’s mind at the sight of her former friend, but the main one was _How?_, closely followed by _Why?_. When they had met, Sarah would have thought Constantine the last person to turn. Alastair, especially in first year, had always been somewhat awkward, Declan had was irritating enough when they were twelve that she might have welcomed such a separation, Jericho was intensely clever and sarcastic. But Constantine _shone_. It came as a surprise to none of them when he turned out to be a Makar – just another inevitable step in the path of the whirlwind that was Constantine Madden.

That’s what he was, a hurricane. They couldn’t see it at the time, too caught up in his strength, in the eye, that they all failed to notice the chaos around them. None of them had paid attention when his Makar lessons had become more and more frequent (wasn’t that just like Connie, always striving for perfection?), nor when him and Jericho returned to the common room looking more exhausted as the days went by (who knows what chaos magic is like? Give them some room), nor when Constantine’s magic became vicious, erratic, uncontrollable (everyone changes, he’s been really stressed, just give him time and space).

And now they were paying the price.

“We should have a talk,” Constantine mused. Sarah tried not to think of Declan (her brother, always there and now gone) sprawled dead by the entrance and instead focused her gaze on Constantine. There wasn’t much else she could do: there was no point in attempting another attack until she had back at least a little bit of her strength.

“We seem to have an audience,” she managed instead, nodding towards the chaos-ridden standing by. Constantine turned to follow her gaze and flicked his wrist to dismiss them, a fleeting look of disdain crossing his marble features.

“You can ignore them,” he sneered.

“Your army?” Sarah asked sarcastically. Constantine turned back to her and gave a flicker of a smile.

“Failures,” he murmured. He sank back to the floor with an air of finality.

“What do you want to talk about?” Sarah asked after at least a full minute of silence. Constantine pursed his lips.

“I have a… proposition for you,” Constantine said slowly. She might have thought he was nervous, except that Constantine didn’t get nervous.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “_What_?”

“You’re an excellent mage, Sarah,” Constantine answered, his eyes wide. “I dislike the unnecessary spilling of blood. Join me, and we can help cleanse this world of the evils it contains. Alastair, too: it’ll be just like the old days. What do you say?”

“It won’t be like the old days,” Sarah snapped. “It never will be again, you made sure of that. You want to prevent the unnecessary spilling of blood? Constantine, you just slaughtered a cave full of vulnerable mages!” Her voice had risen to a shout. She hadn’t mentioned that they could never go back to the old days because two members of their group, now, were dead (and a third irreparably dammaged), but her eyes flicking over to her brother and softening ever so slightly gave it away. Constantine pouted, his arms falling to the side. She shook her head, voice fading back into a broken sob.

“What happened, Constantine?” She asked. That was the question. How had Constantine, her teammate, her friend, turned into – _this?_

(How had they all missed it?)

“Nothing happened, Sarah,” Constantine spoke softly, his eyes genuine and sad. “I simply realised what I should have known all along. What I had been concealed from.”

Something flickered behind the grey of his irises then and he stood suddenly, his voice taking on a colder tone.

“I realised,” he said, his voice coming out snappier. “That I have the power to take what I want. Why should _anything_ stand in my way? All these—” He motioned out to the cave, but Sarah sensed that he meant more of a wider range “—scared of my power, don’t understand what it’s like. I have this for a reason. Why shouldn’t I take it?”

Sarah shook her blonde hair.

“No.” She dismissed. “You changed. The old Constantine would never have said anything like that, not caring about others.”

(His speech had been horribly familiar to the one they’d all faced in their Silver Year, the final collision to mark the shattering of their already fragile group.

“You can’t do this,” Alastair had bitten out desperately.

“I am the Maker,” Constantine had proclaimed. “I can do whatever I want.”)

“The old Constantine was a fool, then,” said the strange human in front of her who wore the face of someone she had once trusted. “Too weak and silly to through off his restraints and chain.”

“Oh?” Sarah enquired, already preparing herself for the blow. “Is that what you’re calling Jericho now?”

Sure enough, Constantine’s eyes widened. “How dare you,” he hissed from between gritted teeth. “Jericho—”

“Jericho would be ashamed to see what you’ve become!” Sarah snapped. “He was good! Frankly, I’m glad he’s dead. At least this way he never had to see his brother turn into a _monster_.”

Constantine stared at her for a minute, his eyes burning. She though he was about to attack, but then he turned sorrowful and let out a choked gasp. “You don’t _understand_,” he cried, distress obvious as he whirled around. “I thought you—you should understand. Why don’t you?” He spun back to face her, long coat flaring out, then fell to his knees again.

“I can bring _everyone_ back!” He said, almost pleading. “You, Declan—“ his face fell—“Jericho. There doesn’t need to be this hurt.” He took her hands in his. “Sarah, I know it’s difficult. But these sacrifices, I swear it, are temporary. One day I will defeat death — our true enemy — and we will be happy again.”

Sarah searched his face for some sign of realism.

This wasn’t Constantine. It couldn’t be.

“You’re insane,” Sarah spat. Constantine’s face hardened, looking not unlike the mask he usually wore.

This face wasn’t how she remembered Constantine, when he was himself, but it too was familiar: just after Jericho’s funeral, Sarah had gone to find him. His face then, when he thought he was alone, was the same harsh, emotionless statue as he had stared at his brother’s grave. Then, it had been heart-wrenching: now, it was his public image.

“I’m not insane.” He replied flatly, standing in a smooth movement. “I’m the only sane one here. I thought that you, at least, might see that. You’re not so morally white yourself, Sarah.”

He sighed, flicking back to a more emotional side again.

“Goodbye, Sarah,” he said. He gave a little wiggle of his fingers. “I’ll see you soon. Sleep well.” And he raised his arms to begin something.

To end something.

Sarah gritted her teeth and summoned up all the energy she had been saving during the conversation. _Metal_, she thought. Metal was _her_ element, as evidenced by her beloved Semiramis, laying by her side. But what she needed now was…

There! Over in the corner were some extra metal rods. They had made sure there was a range of weaponry and resources in the cave.

Not much was left.

But it would do.

She focused her mind on the metal, sharpening and elongating the ends. Then, in a burst of power, she threw them at the Enemy.

The spears came at him suddenly. Constantine, about to do something of his own (not sure what yet: should he go for symbolism of ease?) barely had time to flick his hands and send them in the opposite direction.

A gasp came. He frowned and looked up, open-mouthed at the sight of Sarah, impaled through the side of her stomach and shoulder by a couple of her own weapons.

“Oh,” he sighed. “That’s not what I was going for at all. Must you always be so rash, Sarah?” He leaned down and stroked her cheek in a gesture which, years ago, might have been comforting.

There was a piercing pain on his side. Constantine doubled over, heaving in agony. He looked down, breathing heavily, to see one of Sarah’s metal spears had pierced him just under his ribs. He gasped, blood beginning to fill his mouth.

“Why?” He choked. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Sarah simply watched him silently.

_Fool!_ The voice in his head sneered. _This body is done for. Find me another._

Constantine looked wildly around, not knowing why or how. He didn’t want to search for whatever it was the voice was telling him to find. He wanted, honestly, to lay down and forget his problems.

He wanted to feel again.

He wanted Jericho.

He wanted a lot of things, but none of them seemed particularly likely.

A feeble wail came from somewhere else in the cave. Sarah and Constantine (or rather, whatever was in Constantine’s mind) turned as one to the source. It was over, nearer the entrance than they were. Constantine focused closely.

Yes, a figure, lying on the ground, sprawled out unnaturally. Oh.

Declan.

Constantine felt what he thought might be guilt. (It was, at least, as close as he could feel to anything.) He shouldn’t really: he already knew Declan was gone, had said as much to Sarah. But seeing it again wasn’t _nice_. Declan was family, just as much as Alistair or Sarah or even Jericho.

God, Alastair was going to kill him.

The thought was almost amusing, and brought a lightness to the feeling he’d had at Declan’s corpse. As if Alastair could kill him.

(As if he’d have the chance.)

“No,” breathed Sarah, her eyes wide. Constantine frowned, and turned back to her, then followed her eyes back to her brother. Was she upset about that? He’d been upset about Jericho, he thought, but this was a war. Then he noticed something else, and something clicked.

Declan was dead. He couldn’t make a sound. But the small baby in his arms...

Constantine stepped closer, his legs working of their own accord. The baby — it must be Sarah’s baby, going by her weak protestations. What was his name, then? (Jericho would have known. _But Jericho,_ the voice reminded him, _was weak and now dead._) Callum? That was it, Callum. Callum Hunt.

Whatever sleeping spell the baby had been under, it must have worn off. Constantine could see a bit better now — one of the baby’s legs was at a funny angle. Presumably from where Declan had fallen, his arms dropping from their place around the baby as he’d died. Foolish.

The voice (or was it voices? He couldn’t tell anymore) was raising a cacophony in his mind. He stared down at the whimpering child.

_This will suffice_, said the voice in his head. He nodded absently, feeling the heat from inside as his magic swelled up. Black ink began to leak from his hands.

“Stop!” A voice cried from behind. Ah, the woman. How irritating. No matter.

As the Enemy of Death watched the chaos swirl towards the child, he felt a strange sensation. Was it— wait, what was happening? Where was he? He looked around, bewildered, but the only thing he could see was the chaos. His magic wouldn’t respond. Something was pulling at him, tugging. Was it his magic? It couldn’t be: he trusted his magic.

Was it his?

The sensation became pain. He was desperately trying to hold it back, but the pure feeling of loss was excruciating. He glanced down: there was blood on his clothes, black, spilling from a hole in his chest. When had that got there?

Sarah.

He spun, searching. Sarah had pushed herself up onto her elbows, drastically weakened. Her wide eyes met his. He shook his head at her.

Sarah seemed to realise what was going on and, with the last of her strength, gripped Semiramis and began carving something in the ice. He didn’t see what it was, turning instead back to the source of the pull.

Declan Novak and Callum Hunt lay on the ice, surrounded by darkness: one dead, one worse. He could feel the tugging and knew, with cold realisation, what it was pulling.

His soul.

Was it his?

Was this how Jericho had felt, laying there, trusting his brother to protect him? Had he felt the pure ice of betrayal when he realised what was happening? Or had he not realised, had it been too quick to notice what was wrong?

It might be nice to see Jericho again.

Something in him loosened, pulling fiercely out.

The Enemy of Death gave out a choked sigh.

And Constantine Madden fell to the floor dead.


End file.
